


The Drop

by xSilentHarmony



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Hydra!Jemma, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xSilentHarmony/pseuds/xSilentHarmony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"We have decided to move you to the second phase. Are you ready to get out of those restraints?" Jemma blinked. What did he mean?</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Nothing made sense anymore. Even her knowledge seemed to be slipping from her. She couldn't remember half of what she knew beforehand.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>She watched a blur stand up. Doctor Faustus motioned for someone. "Take her to the Asset. Training begins tomorrow."</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>The black restraints clicked open and two groups of arms wrapped around her. Her head slumped, a groan slipping out, as they moved her from the room.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>AU after Season 1 Episode 6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drop

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I've been sitting on this for a couple of months now and I figured with what the next episode of AOS entails, I would post it now. Special thanks to noble4ever (Tumblr) and afieldofcosmos (Tumblr) for beta-ing!
> 
> MAJOR WARNING:  
> There is dubious consent (because people are not in the right mindset to be giving consent) and mentions of graphic violence. If this turns you off, please don't read this.
> 
> Also, for those who might not read the comics, Doctor Faustus is shown in the run first showing the Winter Soldier as a SHIELD psychiatrist. However, SPOILER ALERT, you learn that he's really working with the Red Skull to put control over people. It's because of Doctor Faustus that Sharon Carter kills Steve in the comics. There is also a reference to a play called _Doctor Faustus_ by Christopher Marlowe about a man who sells his soul to Lucifer to gain knowledge about necromancy because he's greedy for power.

The cargo-hold ramp lowered at a slow speed. Jemma watched the white, puffy clouds come into view and the sparkling blue ocean once the ramp was fully down. She knew Fitz was out—she’d hit him in the exact spot to cause unconsciousness—and she knew it’d take the rest of the team a couple of minutes to notice the ramp being lowered.

Jemma looked at Lola in all her red shining glory and their SHIELD SUV. She smiled. Yes, she’d had a good life, she decided. A fulfilling life.

She stepped without a creak past the cars and stood next to the open air. The wind whipped her clothes and hair to and fro. The air clutched her chest and she had to heave for breaths. She thought about running hands up and down her arms to help the chill, but it wouldn't help. Even her navy blue cashmere sweater wasn't helping.

Jemma blinked and realized what she was about to do. Could she really go through with this? She gulped and bounced on her toes, her hands shaking at her side. 

It was now or never. She couldn’t hold back. If she did, then she would die, and then this plane would crash into the ocean. This was her issue, and she needed to fix it. Her friends couldn’t die in the crossfire. She would be damned if she let that happen.

Time stood still and moved at super speeds simultaneously.

"Jemma!" Fitz's red face screamed as his wide blue eyes took in her position. Poor Fitz. It was for the best though. Jemma turned her red-rimmed eyes towards him. Fitz screamed even louder and pounded on the door. It wouldn’t budge though; Jemma was sure of it. At the last second, a gust of wind ripped her out of the Bus and into the afternoon sky.

Falling didn't seem that bad. Her eyes closed and she let her body continue to fall. Her arms and legs reached towards the Bus while her body bent with the pull of gravity.

Her fingers extended. The wind whipped through her fingers and caressed the tips. The bright sun reflected off the ocean and wrapped around her like a blanket. She breathed deeply.

This was it.

She continued spiraling towards the ocean. Soon she would slam into the water and hopefully die a quick death away from everyone.

Hands wrapped around her waist.

"What?" Jemma opened her eyes and peered into Ward's. "Ward?"

Something was different though. He zapped her and she gasped, the electrostatic pulse flowing through her.

"You saved me..." She said.

Ward stared at her, his hazel eyes cool. She gulped. Something was different. In the past, though he'd been all business and no fun, he at least didn't look like he was about to rip her head off... All the time.

Jemma's eyebrows bunched together. Her body went numb. He looked away to the ocean they were approaching.

This was not normal. What was wrong with Ward?

Ward's jaw tightened. Maybe it was the air whooshing in her ear, but she thought she heard him grit his teeth too.

"Ward?" Jemma asked. "What's wrong?"

Silence.

Splash.

Black.

* * *

Murmurs.

Pricks.

Jemma's eyes fluttered open. "What?" She groaned. She tried pulling her hands to her face, but they wouldn't budge. Her eyes focused on her arms and began widening.

Her heart leapt. She gulped.

"Where am I? What's going on?" Jemma pulled her arms, her hands in tight fists. Black restraints kept her from moving though. The irritated skin around her wrists complained, shots of pain running up her arms as she twisted and turned her hands.. Though she knew it would hurt, she couldn't stop pulling her arms.

"Agent Simmons, you have found yourself in a very interesting predicament." A middle-aged man with a scraggly beard and longer hair walked in front of her, a very distinct accent coming through when he spoke.

He reached up and messed with the eyeglass covering his left eye. Jemma frowned.

"I don't understand." She jerked against the restraints.

"Agent Simmons, how familiar are you with mind control?"

Jemma swallowed another lump in her throat. If she weren't tied to this chair like she was, she probably would have begun shaking. She pushed herself against the chair, her eyes wide.

"Where is Ward?"

"Agent Ward? Well, I'm afraid he was sent back to his original mission. You aren't exactly what we wanted, but you'll do." Then he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "How is it that you managed to skip under our radar? You certainly have the credentials to warrant our attention."

Huffing, Jemma forced her head to the side. In a loud voice, she said, "Where the hell am I and who the bloody hell are you?"

The man took a step back. He ran a hand through his beard before letting it drop. He made a motion like he was mentally noting something and said with as much fervor as possible, "Why, I'm the Doctor Faustus and you, my dear, are my newest subject!"

* * *

Pain. Agonizing pain.

When Jemma woke, her head felt like someone was taking a saw right down the middle. When she could see, she only ever saw men leaning over her, tools in their hands designed for anything but what they used it for. Sometimes bright lights would blink in the immense darkness she lived in, but other than that she didn’t know what was going on.

Her eyes seemed to have run out of tears. Her face always felt the breeze where her tears had dried at. Her skin didn't feel like her own. It was like someone had taken her mind and placed her in someone else. The pain was still there though, especially where they injected her.

When she asked why they did this, no one gave answers. When she asked what they were doing, they shot her full of something to knock her out.

Jemma tried to keep track of the days, but the black confused her. It seemed she spent more time seeing black than anything else.

Had it been days? Weeks?

Where was everyone? Why had Ward let this happen?

Jemma wished she had died that day she'd jumped.

* * *

Faustus. In the play, Faustus was a greedy man who sold his soul to the devil to learn necromancy. He never truly thought about the consequences until it was too late and the devil was coming to collect his soul.

Doctor Faustus seemed much the same. 

They'd stopped making sure she didn't know what day it was. They knew she was too delirious to really do anything now. Maybe the people who were supposed to look for her stopped.

Jemma remembered having friends. She knew she had degrees in science, but things kept running together.

Her name was Jemma Simmons. She was an agent of SHIELD.

Jemma Simmons.

SHIELD.

Jemma.

Simmons.

Her eyes seemed to never focus on anything in particular. Her body still didn't feel like her own, and even her thoughts were sounding like gibberish most of the time.

The bright light that broke through the darkness was a light above an operating table. They kept her strapped to it (Jemma could see marks where she’d pulled her arms against the restraints) and poked and prodded her continuously.

Sometimes they injected her with something that she could always feel flowing through her body. It always felt like the drug worked on things like muscles and other things. It left her feeling lightheaded, but stronger somehow.

"How are you feeling today, Jemma?" Doctor Faustus asked. He pressed the button to push her into a sitting position.

Jemma coughed but said nothing. It hurt to speak.

"We have decided to move you to the second phase. Are you ready to get out of those restraints?" Jemma blinked. What did he mean?

Nothing made sense anymore. Even her knowledge seemed to be slipping from her. She couldn't remember half of what she knew beforehand.

She watched a blur stand up. Doctor Faustus motioned for someone. "Take her to the Asset. Training begins tomorrow."

The black restraints clicked open and two groups of arms wrapped around her. Her head slumped, a groan slipping out, as they moved her from the room.

She thought she heard Doctor Faustus say, "Let's see if the Asset can make a better Black Widow."

* * *

Concrete.

Bruises.

The guards tossed her onto the floor in a room. The room was dark save a single light hanging from the ceiling. If it swung hard enough, it flickered and sometimes shut off.

Jemma leaned against the concrete wall and watched the light move back and forth. Her hands rubbed up and down her arms in a slow, shaking motion.

Black.

Light.

Black.

Light.

Jemma looked around the room. When she came to settle on the corner, she jumped up. She shoved her back against the wall, her breaths coming out in short huffs.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The man in the corner was broad shouldered. He had long, shaggy dark hair and bright blue eyes that she couldn’t help but focus on. He sat on the floor, his back against the wall. The light covered most of his face, but she could make out his stature.

This man slumped against the wall, his eyes focusing on something on the floor.

He didn’t say anything.

“Hello?” Jemma asked.

Nothing.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Silence. Then, “Questioning is disobedience.”

“Excuse me?” Jemma asked. She watched the man’s head tilt up. 

Before Jemma could get an answer, the light went out.

Slam.

Screams.

Slices.

Injections.

* * *

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t know,” she said. Her head lolled to the side, her eyes fluttering open.

“What’s your name?” the person asked. They leaned forward, a lens covering his left eye.

The room was dark save the single light over her head.

What was her name? How old was she? What did she do?

“I don’t know,” she replied. A tear slid down her cheek.

The first one in forever.

“The procedure worked,” another person said. The man asking for her name stood. Her chair moved on its own and she was soon back in sitting position.

“This is who you are,” he said. He handed her a folder. The name on the side said ELEANOR WALKER.

“Eleanor?” she raised an eyebrow. The name rolled off the tongue like a foreign word.

Eleanor?

Eleanor!

Eleanor.

* * *

“Disarm him,” the voice over the intercom said.

Eyes focused on the man before her. The man’s dark hair was pulled back, his blue eyes dulled.

She stepped forward and moved. Her hands flew in a frenzy of moves learned in the last few hours. Within the minute, she stood with the gun pointed towards the man.

She forced herself to keep emotion from her face. He stared back just as unemotional.

“Again,” the voice said.

She handed him the gun and re-did the move.

Her hand shoved towards his. It grabbed his wrist, but before she could wrench the gun into her own, he slid a knife from his side and moved, his body behind her.

She stood straight, her body rigid. He kept the knife by her neck.

“Disarm him,” the voice repeated. She glared at the intercom before glancing in her peripheral. 

She grasped the arm holding the knife. She pushed it away from her neck and in a downward motion. In a flurry of motion, she ended up straddling the man’s hips.

She rested her hands on his chest. He stared up, his eyes widening. She raised an eyebrow at that.

His cold shell was cracking where hers was forming.

* * *

They were to pretend to be a couple.

Her first mission in the field, and she was required to love the man who taught her.

People whispered about how he’d trained someone named Black Widow. Some part of her told her she knew who that was, but she paid it no heed.

The first night they fell into bed, things happened that shouldn’t have. She winded up on top of him, riding until she screamed at the top of her lungs and he groaned loudly.

If she whispered how she wondered why they trusted them to him, she didn’t admit it.

They killed the people they’d been assigned to and headed back to the base.

HYDRA was the order in a world filled with chaos. This was their mission; they were chosen for this.

* * *

“We can’t do this again,” she told him. She fixed her bra and looked over her shoulder at him. He watched her with the same look as always, but she knew there was a fire burning beneath him. He’d said a few words finally.

She didn’t know what they were, and he didn’t know either.

She relaxed against the bed after pulling her clothes back on. She was always sluggish after times with him. Something about him made her just want to curl into his side and whisper all the things she wanted to do with him.

“Do you ever wonder who we are?” she asked after an extended silence. He didn’t respond, but she knew he was staring at her. She continued. “Sometimes I’m on these missions and I know the work we are doing is to fix this world, and then other times when I’m strapped to that table, I want to know why. They never give me an answer though.”

* * *

Whenever they were sent on missions, they never had an extraction. They could only depend on one another. 

When they were alone, they had a pattern of him teaching her more moves and then falling into bed.

After a couple of months of the same thing, she finally said what was on her mind.

“Whatever they did to me, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.”

And she was right.

* * *

It happened again, only this time she knew someone had seen them. They were sending him to Washington D.C.

It hadn’t been as fast as the first time. It’d been slow, sweet-burning, and toe-curling.

She was strapped back on the table the next morning, and he was sent out to D.C.

* * *

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Doctor Faustus asked. He stared at the monitors and watched a black SUV flip over on itself with a bright, twisted smile. She stood by, silent as could be.

She’d learned from the best.

“Soon we will have all we ever wanted,” he continued. He smiled. “You turned out to be the best investment of all. I want you to meet someone.” He motioned to the door. She looked as a man of six foot walked into the room. He was tanned, and he had dark hair.

She knew him.

“Ward, you remember Walker, don’t you?” Doctor Faustus motioned towards her. She continued looking ahead.

This man—Ward—glanced and looked away before turning back. His eyes narrowed before widening. His mouth started to open as if he was shocked at what he saw.

She looked at her leather jacket and the tight pants. She fixed her ponytail and kept her face the same.

“What the hell did you do to her?” he asked. He charged towards Doctor Faustus and jerked him by his shirt. “Well?”

“I had no choice! It’s all worth it though! She’s loyal to a fault now,” he replied. He motioned and she moved without hesitation. She slid a knife from her side and stepped beside Ward.

Holding a knife to him, she said, “Let him go.”

“But—”

“Now,” she replied. She slid the knife closer. It started to draw blood. He dropped Doctor Faustus.

Ward stepped back. “What did they do to you?”

“HYDRA doesn’t ask questions. Questioning is disobedience,” she replied. She moved, her fist connecting to his jaw. It sent him sprawling to the floor.

* * *

It’d been a month since she’d seen him. Things were changing around here. She hadn’t seen that Ward again. 

Then the dreams started.

“Jemma!”

“He’s Fitz, I’m Simmons.”

“I think he’s onto me.”

She jumped up from the floor, her mouth and eyes as wide as possible. No matter how far she tried to reach, she couldn’t make sense of anything though.

Then she started understanding.

Once she started understanding, she started paying attention to the people patrolling. One day, she opened her door and walked back to where Doctor Faustus had housed himself. She knocked and entered.

“Sir,” she said.

“My favorite!” he clapped and motioned for her to come in. “Look at the progress! Soon HYDRA will be where it needs to be, all thanks to the Asset.”

She gulped, a bad feeling settling in her stomach. She pushed it aside, though. Emotions couldn’t get in the way of an op.

“And where am I to be waiting?” she asked.

“Why here, with me! It’s because of you that my success ratio has become as well as it is! I was able to practically replicate a certain serum thanks to you and your resilience,” he said. He smirked towards her. “You thank me now though, don’t you.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not sure I understand.” She turned towards him, her eye catching one helicarrier raising from the Triskelion in D.C. She knew something important was in there.

“You are HYDRA’s best asset. Soon our best asset,” he said.

Her stomach dropped. “What does that mean?”

Doctor Faustus didn’t notice. “Unfortunately, it seems your mentor’s usefulness has run out for HYDRA. His contract will come due soon.”

“Of course. My mentor.” She stepped a quietly as a mouse behind him. She slid the same knife from her side. “Sometimes they just don’t know when to expect it.”

He laughed. She smirked and jammed the knife into his neck. His laugh turned into a loud gurgle. She inched the knife from his neck and let his blood spray her as he fell to the ground. He struggled to cover the wound, but it wouldn’t work.

“You know, Doctor Faustus, one thing you should’ve known about the name you took.” Jemma knelt. “He dies in the end.”

She turned and opened the door slightly. The young guard outside looked her up and down appreciatively. Then he noticed what was splattered on her.

“What?” he started pushing the door open. Jemma snapped his neck and stepped over him.

She leaned down and grabbed his gun and started heading towards the nearest exit.

* * *

Jemma parked the vehicle she’d stolen down the road. It was the first safe house she could think of.

Once she got inside, she grabbed a nearby notebook and started writing all the things her dreams included.

FITZ.

WARD.

SKYE.

COULSON.

MAY.

FURY.

The list continued until she’d filled pages.

She knew what had happened to her and she couldn’t help the tears blurring the words on the pages.

They had kidnapped her, manipulated her, and used her.

She had worked for HYDRA, the one place she’d sooner kill herself than work for.

She remembered her mentor and his metal arm with the red star. She could sometimes still feel it as it moved and up and down her back in soft strokes after a round in the bed.

She knew now who that had been and thanks to the information Natasha leaked, she knew what people said when they mentioned him training Black Widow.

Everything made sense, and it made her see red even more. She gritted her teeth. Her hands shook as she ripped up the notebook. The ripped pages floated onto the cover of the bed. She shoved the pages off and let her head fall onto the pillow. Her eyes slid shut.

She wasn’t Jemma Simmons anymore. She died that day she jumped from the plane.

* * *

A gun cocking.

Mumble.

Jemma sensed someone above her. She grabbed the knife under her pillow and in one swoop motion was in front of one Natasha Romanoff.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jemma said. She kept the knife in her hand, though Natasha slowly lowered hers.

“This was a HYDRA safe house. I was looking for him.”

James.

Of course.

“Why aren’t you dead?” she asked. Jemma looked away. She started to cry, but she pushed them back.

She wasn’t human anymore. She was a weapon.

“Oh no,” Natasha whispered. “Please tell me—”

“Ward helped them capture me,” Jemma said. “I only started remembering recently.”

Natasha put her gun back in her holster and held her hands up. She stepped forward. Jemma started to move back. Before she knew it though, her knife was sitting back on the bed and Natasha had her in her arms.

Jemma tensed at first before relaxing.

“He saved me,” she said after a minute.

“What?” Natasha asked.

“James. They made him teach me. He taught me enough. I made it out when I realized what was happening.” Jemma blinked tears. “They were going to kill him once he finished helping HYDRA.”

Natasha pulled her closer, if that were possible. “Steve and a new friend named Sam are looking for him.”

“I didn’t get to thank him,” Jemma said through tears. “I didn’t even realize who he was.”

Truth was, Jemma was thankful Natasha found her. She wasn’t sure if she ever would have left the safe house if no one showed up.

* * *

Natasha put her into contact with Steve. Soon she and Natasha were meeting them in Italy. As soon as they met Jemma, they raised an eyebrow.

Jemma figured it was probably the leather jacket.

“What do you remember about his patterns?” Steve asked. He pulled out a map.

Jemma grabbed a marker and started making marks. “These are all the HYDRA safe houses I know of. Most of these he at least told me about. Well, not tell, but you know.”

It took ten days before they stormed the right one in northern England. He had been bleeding out, but Jemma stitched him up before getting him someplace safe.

* * *

Freedom smelled the same as fear.

Jemma stood outside the place dubbed the Playground, a coffee in her hand. She glanced at her overly large beige sweater that bunched up around her hands and sighed into the drink. She closed her eyes and let herself relax for once.

A crunch.

Jemma swung around, her arm poised to kill whoever was behind her.

“It’s me!” His hands flew up, and Fitz stared at Jemma with confusion and horror.

“Sorry,” Jemma replied after a moment. She dropped her hand and turned back around. She let her hair fall in front of her face as she sipped more coffee.

It was a nice morning. They were somewhere cold—Jemma was sure it was Canada—and hidden from civilization. The sky was a pretty blue with white fluffy clouds overhead. Snow blew over her when a gust of wind blew.

“What happened to you?” Fitz asked. He stepped next to her, his hood pulled tight over his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jemma replied. She looked towards the evergreen trees covered with snow on the higher branches.

“Was it that bad?” he asked.

Her silence told him everything.

After a minute, he said, “I don’t know what they did to you, but I want you to know that if I had known for a minute you were out there, I would have searched harder for you. I never wanted to leave you.”

“I should have died when I jumped from that plane,” Jemma said. She finished her coffee. “It would have been a lot nicer than what I’ve been through.” She turned and walked back inside. As the door slid shut behind her, she passed James standing in the shadows.

She didn’t stop when he started trailing her; instead, she started turning randomly.

“I know you’re there,” she said after fifteen minutes of walking aimlessly. “Why are you following me?”

“You found me. Why did you help them?” he asked. He stepped out, and Jemma noticed his dark locks pulled back into a ponytail and his arm buffed with a blue star rimmed with red and white.

He was beginning to take back control, and Jemma knew he would ask about them.

She still didn’t know how to tell him he helped save her. It was because of him and him alone that she managed to even remember herself and get out of there.

She also didn’t want to mention how she noticed him leaving Natasha’s room last night. Jemma didn’t want to mention how Steve was there and how his face fell when he noticed.

“I owed you,” Jemma replied. She stopped and turned on her heel. Her hair flew with the motion, slapping her softly in the face. “You helped me, and I helped you.”

James’ eyebrows bunched together. He looked at the floor in the same way he did when he didn’t understand what was happening. It was like his brain was still trying to understand everything that had happened to him.

“No,” he said, “it was something else.”

Scoffing, Jemma crossed her arms over her chest. “I owed you a debt. Nothing more. We’re done here.”

She turned and walked away, and if a tear slid down her cheek, it was only when she was safely in her dark room.

* * *

Jemma looked at herself. She rubbed hands over her already red face and hair before smoothing her hands down her side. The mirror reflected all of the movements, but it still felt like someone else.

Jemma Simmons died that day she jumped. What was left was someone she didn’t even know.

* * *

“When the hell are you just going to get over whatever is wrong with you?” Fitz watched her, his eyebrows drawn together and his cheeks red.

She ignored what he yelled and turned back to what she was working on.

“Damn it, Jemma, we are supposed to be a team! We were once as close as could be.” Fitz stepped next to her. “When are you going to let me back in?”

Jemma turned her eyes to him. They locked eyes for a minute before Jemma let a tear drop. She knew it was for his benefit.

“I’m not who I was, Fitz. Things will never be the same.”

“Yes, they can,” Fitz said. “Whatever you think makes you a terrible person now, you’re wrong. You’ve always been good.”

“I killed people, Fitz, and I didn’t even think I couldn’t do it. I would jerk my knife from them or shoot a gun and watch them. It wasn’t me examining the body afterwards, it was me doing the deed. There is no forgiveness for that.”

“You’re not a bad person,” Fitz replied. He blinked tears. “You weren’t you.”

“Doesn’t help the fact,” Jemma replied. Her lips curled up just a hint. “You were always the good one, Fitz. The real hero. Never forget that.”

* * *

About a year passed before James finally confronted her.

“I loved you,” he said.

Jemma smiled. “I know. And I loved you.” Her smile dropped after. “But things change. We weren’t ourselves.”

And they weren’t. They had been controlled the entire time. It didn’t matter that they consented; they didn’t have the full capacity to make that decision. And now that Jemma saw that, she knew that she could never fully be okay with someone else again.

But maybe James felt the same way.

* * *

Kiss.

Brush.

Sigh.

Jemma let her arms wrap around him. He hoisted her up, his blonde hair bright even in the dark room.

He leaned over her, his muscular arms at each side of her head. She grinded up at him, he grinded down.

They moved in sync, and they both moaned a name that wasn’t theirs after.

* * *

Fitz wouldn’t look at her. Said he didn’t understand what she was doing.

Jemma continued her science and didn’t let it bother her.

It wasn’t like she needed his permission to do what she wanted with whomever she wanted.

Steve was a grown man, and if he wanted to substitute her for someone else, then he was free to do so. It was only fair since she was doing the same thing.

* * *

It wasn’t meant to be this way, but soon she and Steve were on a regular thing. Whatever that thing was.

James would stare at them with a look that said he didn’t agree in reasons that no one but she knew.

After about a month of their thing, James confronted her.

“What are you doing?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Your friends think you’re possessed.”

“My friends don’t know what they did to me. What you did.”

“I was just as forced as you were.”

Jemma huffed and looked away. James sighed and stepped forward.

“Wha—”

“You’re afraid someone will use you again,” he said. “Just like I am.”

Jemma looked into his eyes while biting her lip. She picked at her nail bits.

“You feel like if someone gets close, it gives them power. You’re free when no one is close. No one can take it away from you.”

Jemma blinked tears.

“You, me, Natasha. We all know what it’s like. We all know what’s at stake to stay alive.” James leaned down. “But it’s a sad life to live, Jemma.”

“Why do you care?” Jemma asked.

“Because I’ve been trying ever since I first started understanding what happened to piece together what happened between us. And it finally makes sense.”

James let his hair fall in front of his face. A shadow hid most of his face.

“Why do you want me?” Jemma asked. “Why not… anyone else?” She thought of Steve and Natasha especially. Anyone who knew him better than her.

He didn’t answer.

She walked away.

* * *

She would never be the same. He would never be the same. 

They both had people who cared for them, but the truth was, they were the only ones who had just gotten out. They needed time to figure themselves out.

It was only a matter of time before they were stumbling into Jemma’s room, kicking things over and flinging clothes every which way.

She may never be truly happy again, but it helped that he was there.

When they were done, he promised he was done with Natasha. She promised she was done with Steve.

Jemma tried to never say she loved him, but after one slow night, it slipped out and changed things even more.

Things got better. She didn’t flinch every time Fitz stood behind her. She didn’t move to kill whoever touched her when someone did, and she didn’t always note the exits in a room.

* * *

Years down the road, Jemma would see Steve with Sam, Natasha, and a few other people before settling with someone. Natasha was much the same. 

She and James left one another and got back together a lot before finally stopping.

Things were calm now. SHIELD was back with Maria Hill as director. They had hunted down as much of HYDRA as they could.

The threat still loomed, and though Jemma had let a lot of her guards down, she never let herself forget all that happened.

She’d lost herself once. She wouldn’t lose herself again.

 

 


End file.
